


beyond the naked eye.

by HelenaKey



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Barbara-centric, Canon Bisexual Character, Character Study, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Lying to yourself, Misconceptions About Reality, Multi, One-Sided Attraction, Parent-Child Relationship, Present Tense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-16
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-09 17:05:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4357349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HelenaKey/pseuds/HelenaKey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>J finds a place between her legs and he starts to move; B puts her arms around his shoulders, and waits. His pace quickens and his grips on her waist tightens, but she's still waiting. She waits when he puts a hand on her back, and rests his head between her breasts; looking for something, and not finding it. She waits when her insides get warm and sticky, and she waits when he rolls to his side, panting. Whatever she is waiting, it never comes. He's breathing heavily, and she feels nothing. But B is a good woman, and she never makes complains about a good man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	beyond the naked eye.

**Author's Note:**

> There are not enough stories about sweet-unsteable-and-sometimes-sociopath Barbara, so... I had to do one of my own. It's not the best of my works so far but, I hope you like it. :3

B is a good woman.

She likes to go shopping and to cook, and her favorite time of the day is in the afternoon, when she goes outside to water the plants on her balcony. Of all the flowers that she keeps there, the Iris are the ones she loves the most, and she takes care of them as diligently as she can. J had gifted her Iris on their third date, after he heard that she was buying bubs in the florist to brighten her new home, and ever since then, they became her favorite flowers. Whenever she comes out to the balcony to water them, she thinks about J and smiles.

Sometimes, when she sprays the plants with insecticide, to keep the worms away, she thinks about R as well. Whenever she does it, she chides herself. R is gone now, and she tells herself it's better that way.

Every day, B wakes up very early in the morning and goes out to jog. When she comes back to her house, she's flushed and exhausted, but there's a big smile on her face, and the color on her cheeks is nice. She makes herself a breakfast of cereals and fruit, and a cup of green tea to gulp it down (she doesn't drink coffee anymore; caffeine is a drug, and B doesn't do drugs). She eats it very slowly, taking gulps of orange juice in between bites, and chewing her food until it becomes a smooth paste on her mouth. When she is finished, she changes her clothes and heads to the art gallery she runs in the downtown.

When B is at work, there's always a smile on her face. She was never good with paintings when she was a child, and she wasn't very interested in art either. But whenever she reunites with her co-workers, and they talk about artists, collections and paintings, she feels useful; as if she were doing something important. She works hard. She works harder than she has ever worked in her entire life, and no matter how tired she feels when she comes back home to wrap herself in J's loving arms, she always feels happy about it.

She imagines how her mother's face would look like if she saw how beautiful her desk is. How she keeps everything in a straight line; the pencils, the computer, the keyword and the documents she has to sigh during the week. Everything is perfectly arranged. Her mother wouldn't believe she has become so efficient, she thinks, and whenever she proves her wrong, B feels proud.

B is a good woman, and when the day is over, and J comes home to stay the night, she's always there for him. When he has problems, she listens to him, and when she can, she helps him too. Sometimes, J just doesn't want to talk; he stays silent and he sulks, and B knows is her job to make him happy again. She hands him a cold beer, and gives him a kiss on the lips. B sees J get drunk and smile sillily, and she hears him start to babble when sleep gets to him, but she never opens a bottle for herself (alcohol is a drug, and B doesn't do drugs, even when J is the one offering them). When that doesn't work, she can always get on her knees and make him happy through other methods.

B is a good woman, but when she spends the night with J she doesn't know how to feel. He is always gentle; his hands run down her body temptingly, slowly. She is always patient, silent; she barely makes a sound. B waits for something, and she doesn't know what it is. J finds a place between her legs and he starts to move; B puts her arms around his shoulders, and waits. His pace quickens and his grips on her waist tighten, but she's still waiting. She waits when he puts a hand on her back, and rests his head between her breasts; looking for something, and not finding it. She waits when her insides get warm and sticky, and she waits when he rolls to his side, panting. Whatever she is waiting, it never comes.

He's breathing heavily, and she feels nothing.

But B is a good woman, and she never makes complains about a good man.

The first time they go to see her parents, B and J are nervous. It's been years since B last saw them, and they didn't parted in the best of ways. When they stop at the doorstep, J takes her hand and tells her that everything is going to be fine. She smiles then, because he is a good man. He is the kindest man she has ever known and her parents are just about to meet him. They would forget about R and about all the others; they would see how beautiful she looks now (because B doesn't do drugs, and that makes her look beautiful) and they would hear how successful the Art Gallery has become, and how happy J and B are now. She _would_ prove them wrong, and her parents would be proud.

B is a good woman, and when her mother doesn't hug her and his father doesn't smile, she doesn't get angry. She eats quietly, and keeps up with her mother's conversation, trying to include J as best as she can. They talk about the golf club, and about her father's business; about the weather and the news and the NSYE's situation, but they don't talk about her. They are not interested in the Art Gallery, and they are not impressed with J. But B is a good woman, and she only cries when they are alone in the car, far away from her childhood home and far away from her parents.

When they come back home, B doesn't want to see J. When he tries to talk to her, she snaps at him. When he tries to touch her, she walks away. She closes the door in his face, and hides under the blankets of the bed. B misses R. She doesn't want to go out to jog in the morning, and she doesn't care how healthy or not is her breakfast. She doesn't care about the Art Gallery, and she doesn't care about J.

B misses R, and the way her lips closed around her breasts when they slept together. How she smiled after taking the last bit of their joint and throwing it through the window. She misses her long, black hair, and her thin-lipped smile, and the taste of alcohol in her mouth. B slides a hand between her legs thinking about R, and for the first time in months, she feels _something_.

B is not a good woman, she knows deep inside, and for a moment (only for a moment, when the night is dark outside the window, and no one is there to point and judge) she admits that she doesn't want to be one.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Steady As She Goes, The Racounters.


End file.
